


Second Skin

by ladyofstardvst



Category: Star Wars, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, complicated past, i dont even??? really?? know???, secrets threatening to mess everything up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-01-31 09:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21443662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofstardvst/pseuds/ladyofstardvst
Summary: Bet ya'll never thought you'd see me writing for SW huh? I've been super intimidated to write for star wars, but i've wanted to for ages!! im still doing my research and learning everything I can so be gentle while i get my shit together pls. hope yall enjoy my nose dive into the mandalorian :)
Relationships: The Mandalorian x reader, The Mandalorian x you
Comments: 27
Kudos: 368





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bet ya'll never thought you'd see me writing for SW huh? I've been super intimidated to write for star wars, but i've wanted to for ages!! im still doing my research and learning everything I can so be gentle while i get my shit together pls. hope yall enjoy my nose dive into the mandalorian :)

You were always running, it seemed.

It was second nature by now, an instinct that hadn’t seemed to decommission itself in the years since the war ended.

Running _t__o_ the Rebel Alliance. Another fight. A better future. Running _f__rom_ the Empire. Enemy fire. Leftover Imperial sympathizers. Bounty hunters.

And now, you were running from the Mandalorian.

Losing him in the ebb and flow of city markets and labyrinthine alley-ways would have been simple. Sneaking back to your transport would have been simple. Leaving him to track a trail gone cold would have been simple. It had been simple before, usually, and it would probably be simple this time as well.

Here’s the thing: simple was too _easy_. You had tried the simple life after the Empire had fallen, when the Alliance wasn’t needed anymore, when it melted back into the shadows. You had the opportunity to try for simple, and you took it. It was too anticlimactic, too eventful. After half a life caught in the middle of a war, you had grown accustomed to adventure and risk. You craved it now, kept it as much apart of you as your storybook tattoos, your accent from your home world, and the memories and nightmares that threaded themselves through your dreams and clothing and the blood flowing gracefully through your veins. It was as familiar as the feel of your blaster weighted in your hand, your finger on the trigger ready to be pulled.

You lost the others that hunted you before – most time of the time besting them so they hunted you no more.

But the Mandalorian-

You’ve let him hunt you. You’ve let him get close enough that _maybe_, he thought, _this was it_. He knew it was either you or him, and some days, he was foolish enough to think it would be _you_ on the sizzling end of the blaster. He was wrong every time.

You always turned into the wind when he was close enough to touch you. Smoke and mirrors, he realized. He began to wonder if that’s all you were anymore.

It was unclear to either of you why you let this drag on as long as it had. Was it because he had his own code, was different from the others apart of the guild? Was it a guarantee of an edge worth having, or part of some scheme dripping grandeur and drama? It had become a game of sorts, and the rules were dealt in secrets.

Until one day – _the_ day, probably – everything melted into a hazy, blurred afternoon in Bothawui. Afternoon faded to dusk, sunshine took cover behind the horizon to leave the city drowning in starlight, moonlight, adrenaline. _The thrill of the hunt._

A warm breeze kicked up - you saw the cape flutter first, waving to you out of the corner of your eye like an old friend.

_Secrets_, you thought, creating a path through side streets and alley-ways that wound away from the night market. _Secrets always have a funny way of coming back to you, when you least expected them._

A nice evening this would have been if either of you had a different life. A different course chosen for the future. The recklessness to take just one night for yourselves, however you wanted to spend it.

_Secrets._

The wind whispered in your ear, whispered all around you.

The bounty hunter cornered you, finally, that night. You had planned it, he knew. It was calculated. He assumed you would make your graceful escape at any moment you chose. That’s how you operated - you were good, but even those with talent made mistakes every now and then. He was ready for it. For all of it.

But you never tried to run.

You watched him come closer, and closer still, silent as the freshly dead, hand grazed a holstered weapon; the closest you’ve ever allowed. He was near enough to touch you with an outstretched blaster, closed fist, gloved fingertips.

Closer still.

_Be careful with this secret._

The wind whispered all around.

“Face to face, at last,” you said with the twinge of a smile on your lips. “Well. Face to _helmet_, but I won’t hold that against you.”

The growing darkness, the lack of reach from the market lights cast yourselves deeper and deeper into shadow. You saw his silhouette give his head a shake.

“We can do this the easy way,” he said, the dig of a blaster nozzle slowly jammed into your side. “Or the hard way.”

You grinned.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” your eyes were unblinking, a stare with metal you refused to break. “I remember you, you know. From before all of this.”

He didn’t respond, but he heard the whispers about secrets too.

You raised a hand slowly, the Mandalorian’s blaster dug harder into your body; the heat felt through your clothing despite the warmth already one with your skin.

“I’m unarmed, hunter.”

You knew he watched your movements, knew he calculated and tried to predict you. You had some tricks up your sleeve you hadn’t revealed, and you knew it was time to reveal one of them tonight.

You knew that. You knew _him, _too.

He didn’t know you at all. Not anymore.

_Careful, clever spy._

Then and now, you knew he would have welcomed the simple gesture - the rare allowance from a memory so far, far away it couldn’t have existed. You knew that when your hand slowly drifted closer, closer, to the metal of his prized armor, the metal that never left his face.

There were some secrets better left buried, he knew. Some memories, better left to rot and become tainted by the test of time and space.

This was a distraction, probably, and all it took was a second. _Eternity in a heartbeat._

When his eyes came back into focus, he was face to face with smoke and mirrors.

You were gone.


	2. Caged Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> your next encounter isn't so hostile, but it's not necessarily harmless either. (aka, im running with the whole 'we knew each other before life got Very Messy and we're trying to ignore that Maybe We Were In Love once upon a time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not written an ongoing fic of any kind in absolute YEARS, so im just running with this concept while I can!! hope you stick around to suffer with me <3

The next time you saw him, something was different.

You noticed the new armor first. It caught your eye in the crowded Cantina, glinting and gleaming brand new metal and polished iron in the low, dingy lighting. When he came closer – it was _Beskar_, you realized. Your breath hitched, catching in your throat.

So the rumors were true.

He saw you watching, saw you slip unnoticed out the back and into the night when you knew you had caught his eye in return.

It was not yet night, not really. Dusk, twilight, late evening – whatever one chose to call it. The sun had disappeared regardless, leaving the world bathed in a hazy violet glow that quickly slipped into a navy sky, a black sky, a sky full of star systems and planets you’ve been, places you wished to explore, places you wish you would never have the misfortune to see.

The galaxy was a big place, but even big places can start to feel small.

You wound your way through crowds and individuals on the main road, trailed a small group making for a less populated section of the city; somewhere calm, somewhere more private. Somewhere a conversation with a Mandalorian wouldn’t be noticed, wouldn’t be overheard. Somewhere you wouldn’t be _caught_.

There was a dead-end alley between a couple of shops that called out to you, whispering your name on the wind. It was down a small set of stairs, dark and out of the way yet still bright enough by starlight and city light that you could see, and others could see you. Silhouettes, shadows, faceless shapes. The trick of the light wouldn’t give away details to anyone who walked by, only an illusion of two beings craving someplace of their own, someplace private.

The Mandalorian was still a bounty hunter _hunting you,_ after all.

He followed you without hesitation, just as you knew he would. Patterns and predictability seemed a dangerous trait for a hunter, but you had been a _spy_. Patterns and predictability had been burned from your instincts long ago.

You slipped out of the shadows at the foot of the stairs and greeted the Mandalorian with a blaster to the back of his shiny iron helmet. The barrel dug in for good measure, bowing his head forward and his hands slowly rising in mock surrender.

“I’m curious,” you began, voice even and quiet against the nightlife in the city around you. “What could a Mandalorian _possibly_ have done to gain a bounty on his own head? Seems a little . . . _counterproductive_, don’t you think?”

The news had traveled to you through the grapevine a few moons ago, and you had to tighten your grip on the glass you were drinking from in another Cantina, another town. A laugh wanted to bubble up through your lips, fingers wanted to uncurl and let the grimy glass slip through to shatter at your feet. You weren’t sure why, but the bitterness you held onto wanted to breath fresh air and be given new life. Suddenly, you felt like a spy again.

Had you ever stopped, though? Years gathering information for the Alliance, countless cycles pretending and hiding and _running_ – when did that second nature end, and the real you begin?

_(__Old habits died hard_, someone told you once upon a time.)

“If you have to ask, it seems you’ve forgotten who I am.”

A beat of silence.

You considered his words -

_Then two._

\- how they taunted and challenged.

_Then three._

The many things he could mean by them.

“If I remove this blaster from your head, will you try to _arrest_ me?”

You had begun to wonder if you had gotten too close to the fire you were playing with. If the spy was losing their touch; believing what you _hoped_, instead of observed. Maybe your training was beginning to loosen it’s hold after all, in the years void of the pressures of war.

“And take you _where_?”

“You tell me.”

The Mandalorian had no answer, so your blaster was holstered, careful and calm. You faced each other in the shadows now, eyes always searching, body always ready to disappear to be welcomed back into the shroud of darkness. A home away from home, of sorts. Both of you kept your hands where the other could see them: a courtesy, an intrigue on each side. Patience was deteriorating with this cat and mouse game, but now – _well_, there was only one option left, now, wasn’t there?

“I’ve been thinking,” the words left your mouth when he continued his silence.

“This should be good,” he said under his breath, muffled by the helmet, muted by the weight of lingering hesitation.

You caught them anyway, teeth flashing in the moonlight when you smiled. He tensed under his armor.

_Careful, clever hunter,_ the wind whispered under the stars.

But it was you, who had to choose your words carefully. To be mindful of how you presented your offer, strategic on how you handled whatever _this_ may be, because if nothing had changed and you didn’t think this through – you knew _he_ would be he one to walk away from _you_.

So, you spun a tale of facts and theories, lured him in by the rhyme and reason of your voice, your words. You saw the way he held himself as he relaxed – you only noticed because you remembered how ease looked on him, once upon a time – you saw him glue the pieces together, see the potential in what you were telling him. He was intelligent – always had been, always would be. You saw how he felt in his bones that this could be beneficial, to him as much as you.

_You haven’t let your heart lead in so long, _the wind reminded him. But this was just as much mind as it was heart.

“Just say it,” he demanded. “Stop with your stories.”

_Maybe_, you thought as you trailed off, you hadn’t changed as much as you assumed.

“Travel with me,” you answered, taking a step closer. “We can both fight just fine, but you can’t deny I’m more skilled at hiding or blending in_._”

The Mandalorian looked away from you (probably), and instead angled his head to the sky, then the alleyway entrance above the stairs. The moon was just visible over the darkened shop roofs and abandoned stalls now. A crescent sliver glowing iridescent against the contrast of the black expanse of the sky. You saw the barest reflection shine in his visor, and you had to look away, had to remind yourself to breathe.

“You’ll be in more danger if we do this. The ones coming after me – there will be more of them, than there are for you.”

Your eyes narrow in the shadow. “You say that like I don’t already know.”

“I say it _because_ -”

He cut himself off quick as blaster fire. Exhaled loud enough you heard it, and it made your heart beat just a little bit _quicker_. He almost forgot how swift you could weave your way through his ever-present armor and under his skin, how much you could make him want to _throw something_ in frustration, in anger and awe and something that dangerously reminded him of . . . _peace_.

You raised an eyebrow in question. “Please, do go on.”

“I’m reconsidering taking you in, just so you know.”

The laugh that broke through your lips warmed the brisk wind beginning to chill the dark. It lit up the shadows like the brightest star in the sky, and it was enough to make the fearsome bounty hunter question that _maybe_ some sort of divine entity existed after all. Because if there were, you would put them to shame.

He did all he could to quell the rise of warmth that spread through his chest when he realized he could still make you laugh. It wasn’t the same, of course – _nothing was_ – but it was _something_. Something familiar, and something _not shit_.

“I’ll give you some advice,” you countered when the laughter receded. “I’m most vulnerable in my sleep. Maybe an ex-Alliance spy would be good enough to trade for your freedom – but you’ll have o accept my offer to take your chance.”

_Careful, clever spy,_ the wind returned to guard you. _Smoke and mirrors __are__ all you ha__ve__ left._

But smoke and mirrors was just a covert way of saying to run. To hide and to trick and to _spy_.

You had begun to tire of running. It was simple in its own way, and you would always tire of simple. It was time to stop running from  _something_ , you decided that night. You were going to start with the Mandalorian.

But now, the tables had turned. He had just begun his own trial of running; he could do it without your help of course, but he knew you would make a useful ally and,  _well_ . He was never  very  skilled at smothering what his heart wanted – not completely, not forever.

“Come on, _hunter_,” you said, taking a step out into the streets, out of the shadows and into the light. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”


	3. Ghosts in Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've been on the run together for weeks. The tension is building, and things start to go So Very Wrong, because of course they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me after fridays episode with Omera: i have the perfect idea for a feel good chapter!!!  
me instead: makes them SUFFER.  
sorry, everyone!! next one though, i swear.

For the first time in a long time, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake.

Not a dire one, not yet, but the potential of consequence is present, the countdown to a threat of your own making had been haunting your thoughts and your dreams in these weeks you’ve been on the run with a Mandalorian bounty hunter.

_Tick._

_Tock._

It was feral, the constant nagging in the back of your mind. It was worse when you were alone, of course, but it was the _worst_, when you were alone with him. A tension had grown, had settled itself over the entirety of your ship like a fog: thick and opaque, the intent unclear but still charged all the same. Electric, really. It was tainted with a swirl of nostalgia, even, the most dangerous part of all.

It unsettled you, not being in control of this. It slid out of your bones, escaped when you bled, melted through the fabric of your starship to be stolen by the vacuum-void of space and time.

_Tick._

_Tock._

Of course, you made sure your traveling companion was none the wiser, made sure he didn’t know that something had changed, that something was shifting inside of you that was _deeper_ than your stone-cold will could dispel. Something more _primal_ that overthrew the calm calculations of your training. You had called the shots every time you met, every time he tailed you and lost you and he cursed himself again and again and _again_. That was all you, and you could not afford to screw it up now.

Hiding it, though, was all for naught. He was onto you, only because he _recognized_ the distant look in your eyes, the tight clench of your jaw on the longer days, the way you closed yourself up more than you had when you goaded him into running after you. You didn’t bring up your past like you had in crowded cities and moonlit alleyways. Your past was a weapon, and you both knew it.

He already knew how you felt, because he was fighting those demons too.

He was grateful for his helmet, his armor. Grateful that he wouldn’t – _c__ouldn’t_ take it off in front of you. You could read eyes like you could read atmospheres, situations, people. It was the only part of you he had never gotten used to.

The hunter and the spy knew there would come a day you would dread above all others so far. A day when someone had _enough_, a day when someone would _snap_ in their own way. It would lead to an unraveling of sorts, and this – whatever _this_ was now – it would fall apart and blow up in your faces, _spark,__ fuse, boom_.

Today was going to be that day.

“We need supplies,” you said at evening meal, autopilot leading your ship through the galaxy, smooth sailing. “The sooner the better, in case something goes south on us in the next few weeks.”

_We. Us._ The words that left your lips made the Mandalorian grip the back of the chair he stood behind just a_ little bit_ tighter.

“Can we avoid cities?”

“Not if we want to keep risking small stops every other week.”

His trademark deep sighs rattled through his helmet. “Where’s the closest low-risk planet?”

“I’m not even sure where we _are_. You’ve been very _insistent_ on piloting _my ship_ the last few days, you realize.”

“And we haven’t been boarded _once_.”

His tone was smug, the accusation dripped with poison, but not hostility. Like old friends bickering over something small, something petty.

_You’re just like __old__ lovers_, someone mentioned to you long ago. You almost choked on your drink then, and you almost choked on it now.

“That was _not_ my _fault,_ and you know it.”

He shook his head, followed by a low rumble of laughter.

Laughter was something rare for the bounty hunter, and you – well you had to hide your grin by downing the contents of your glass. Stolen moments like _this_ one was something neither of you allowed, not very often. It would be terribly easy, you discovered, to become swept up in past habits, feelings that still lingered – ones that refused to die, refused to let go. They were too dangerous, too unpredictable.

Every time you stole one, you felt . . . oddly content. _Safe_, even, in this split-second illusion. It made you wonder if things could be different some day.

_Tick._

_Tock._

The planet you chose was a calculated risk – as most were at this point – but not one you couldn’t handle, should it turn . . . _inconvenient_.

He left your ship in the radiant glow of dawn, armed and quick as always. You watched him disappear into the glow of the horizon, sky painted in streaks of blood orange and vermilion so deep it was almost violet. Divine cream colored clouds cut through them all, leaving the air tinted golden and deity-like. You squinted as the first rays of sunlight illuminated the piloting cabin, extended it’s ethereal glow to wrap you in it’s welcomed embrace.

The Mandalorian was a silhouette, and then he was gone.

The child on your lap cooed at the warmth the light gifted, wiggled in your arms and grabbed the toy on the control panel. A little distraction until he came back, and for that you were grateful.

Surprise was too simple of a word to describe what you felt when the Mandalorian came to your ship, extra gear and a covered, cooing green bundle in his arms. You understood then, about his own bounty. Why he accepted your offer so quickly.

It wasn’t for _him_. It was for the _child_.

And because of the bounty still _on_ the child, and the _firm insistence_ to follow his savior to the ends of the galaxy – you couldn’t both go on runs anymore. It wasn’t the safest option, but a ship was easier to defend than an open city with endless ways for an ambush and kidnapping.

He still _trusted_ you, deep down.

He was gone an hour, maybe two.

That’s when the explosion began. A ground shaking, ship rocking, alarm sounding _explosion_.

The blaster fire followed.

You scooped up the child and took him to the quarters he shared with his bounty hunter. Set him on the bed. Borrowed a blaster or two from his arsenal in the closet. Barricaded the child in the room, his cooing intensified. He was one with his surroundings, understood danger when it was close. _Good_.

The borrowed blasters joined your own; one in your thigh holster, one guarding your other hip. Your emergency rifle was in your hands, then draped in your lap back in the pilot’s seat. Eyes scanned the horizon, the ship’s sensor scopes. The smoke over the horizon was thickening, creating a dusky haze over the orange sun still low in the sky as they rose. You could see blaster bolts now, coming closer and _closer_.

Out of the trees, now. Then across the clearing.

You watched the shapes get close enough, and then you opened the ramp. Your combat training did the rest.

There was something poetic about fighting alongside the Mandalorian for the first time since . . . well, since things became too complex, too complicated. Too _messy_. There was irony, there was a metaphor, there was some cosmic life lesson that the universe was shoving in your face, shoving his steeled skull into as well.

Or maybe it was just a joke.

It crossed your mind when he pushed you behind him, took a surprise shot straight into his chestplate instead of _you – _that you were supposed to be done running. From this, from him, from yourself.

You shot a shadow from over his shoulder, took advantage of his beskar and used him for cover. You still fought well together, still in tune with each others movements, could still read each other flawlessly at the height of battle to do what had to be done, and to do it _quick__ly_ before it was you or him lying on the ground from something you would regret for the rest of your lives.

Guilt was a force in and of itself, after all.

In the end, you were victorious. A little damaged, a little breathless, but alive where the others were not. _There were more coming_, your Mandalorian said, as he hauled you to your feet. _We need to keep moving_.

You were back in the void of the distant, night-black sky in minutes. He left the cabin first, when there was cooing in the doorway. You scowled, lips turned down. You swore you left the child in their quarters, doors fortified from the _outside_ to all holy _hell_ -

“There’s blood on your helmet,” you blanched at the drying crimson streaks that stained steel.

_Tick._

He paused. “It’s not mine.”

_Tock._

And then he collapsed.


	4. The Decay of Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's injured, you're forced to do something neither of you like. Much angst. Blood is spoken about a good chunk of the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> behold, the latest Trial in their "Relationship"  
(also, i know this may be a little Controversial, possibly, and i plan to explore this more later so please be gentle i am still learning. and feedback is welcome, of course, just no yelling at me)

_So this is what it felt like to drown._

Everything was a blur after The Mandalorian went down, falling further under the waves. The ship, his body, the child. It was leaving him.

Shapes were out of focus, the sensation of unforgiving metal panels barely registered. The cold seeped into his skin where there was no beskar to protect him. A chill washed up his body, and he realized there was something obscuring his senses. It was all . . . _murky._

Then nothing. Then Darkness.

Your voice called out to him, brought him back to life, back to consciousness. Back to the surface, the shore in sight. He swore he heard his true name tumble through your lips in a frantic plea to _wake up, you pain in _everyone’s_ ass, Dyn, please-_

Then, white hot searing pain at the base of his skull, a supernova collapsing in a violent explosion that took entire planets and moons and star systems to their beautiful, fiery graves. Something dripped down his neck, something hot and thick; your gentle touch whisked it away, lukewarm and steady as you blessed him with your healing touch.

He felt his cloak pull away, like it was being caught in a current of tentative waves lulling him back under the water, lazy and slow. He drifted in and out of awareness for minutes, months, cycles. Vaguely registered how soothing your mending felt, instead of the brutal, foreign pain that drug him underwater again and again and _again_. He heard your voice reassure him, the child, you, _all of the above_, that he would be fine, you could heal him, everything was _fine_.

Then, before another nauseating wave of agony, before another streak of blood leaked down, down, _down_ to puddle beneath him – your tone changed. You sounded scared, but that couldn’t be _right_ because it took a lot to terrify _you,_ and _this was nothing_.

You spoke with a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. Your hands, steady as the creators themselves, began to shake.

_Forgive me_, you said.

He felt the familiar weight of steel creep slowly up, up, pain, pain, _pain_ -

The Mandalorian was drowning. He had been pulled far, far away from the shallows, deep enough to feel a swift wave of panic when he looked at the darkest reaches of the sea below him. It threatened to swallow him up forever, but not at this very moment. He looked to the surface instead, still far enough away he couldn’t see anything, nothing important. Just a blinding light in the distance, the swirls of a current above and around him, infinite hues of seafoam green, heartbreaking azure, and the deepest navy he had ever seen. It almost stopped his heart, watching them mix and melt and create beauty when the light shined upon them dancing together around his fingertips.

He wanted _more;_ wanted to see more of that beauty, ached to see the possibilities it held for him. So he began to swim towards the light, closer and closer before freedom descended upon him like his own starship when he flew it at lightspeed for the first time.

He opened his eyes as he broke through the surface – he was in his quarters instead, he realized, sprawled on the bed. Something bothered him about how he had gotten _here_, when he was sure he was in the – and then he saw the kid, fast asleep in his own small cot next to him. It clicked then, what had happened. You were going to have questions, _accusations_, because you had seen something like this _before_. He hadn’t said anything for that specific reason, and you were going to be _angry_.

Something pulled at the skin on his left side when he tried to move – a bandage, he learned, once he pushed the disorientation away, focused passed the slamming ache that radiated through bone and flesh. There was something else, something _bulky_ shoved artfully under his cloak where it hid his skin and joined with his second skull. He poked and prodded at the dressing – there wasn’t any pain above a dull, uncomfortable throbbing, not on the wound itself, not anymore. Something you used while treating him, he guessed. His fingers continued their blind inspection, traced the sterile fabric as it mapped a path up and -

The bounty hunter _froze_.

Where the bandage ended, he couldn’t get to it without removing what he held most dear. He found the end of the dressing, hastily cut and applied two inches under his beskar helmet. That alone, told him many things, and half of them were about _you_.

You, who were in the pilot’s cabin when he went looking.

Knees were drawn up to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them in a vice. You were staring out of your starship, eyes locked in on the vast amount of _nothing_. Maybe you were trying to see far enough to the next moon, the next planet, maybe even the future.

He was wrong though. You weren’t thinking at all.

You knew he was there, using the doorway for support. He was trying to hide the lingering influence of his injuries, didn’t want to make any of this _worse_. As if anything could, when you had been wrist deep in his blood only an hour ago.

When he allowed the silence to continue, you broke it.

“I didn’t-” you began, not as graceful as you hoped. “You . . . were on your _stomach_, and I only-”

A ragged breath entered your lungs, sharp and quick. It left just as violently, just as loudly. Your voice failed you, and you were grateful, because it was so _big_ in the small silence, and you wished you could melt into the stars, become one with the galaxy. But you couldn’t, because you had to explain what happened, and you had to make sure he knew he probably could have _died_, and you _didn’t_ see his face, didn’t see _anything_, not really, because you were too busy trying _not to panic_ at violating the Mandalorian Way so you could save his _life_.

The bounty hunter waited for you to continue, as you _always_ did, but only when you were ready. His stomach was in his throat, heart beating dangerously fast. He blamed a lot of things for how he felt right then. His injuries, his inability to stick with the Guild, and himself – for agreeing to travel with _you_, of all beings, in the first place.

How he couldn’t let you go, even after all this time.

“I remember,” you started over, voice slow and stable, even though you were far from it. “I remember what you told me, a long time ago. I know what this means to you, your way of life, and I have _always_ wanted it to be _your_ _choice_ – there was a lot of blood, Dyn, and I wasn’t going to _let_ you bleed out. I _couldn’t_.” You cleared your throat, eliminated the uncertainty you felt being honest like this, about being honest with _him_. “I just lifted it as much as I needed to treat you properly. It never came off, and I never saw your face. I . . . I didn’t even clean it out of your hair – which I didn’t really see _either_, because, you know, _the blood._”

Your voice tapered off into that quiet again, and you pulled your hands into your lap, curled them into fists and brought your eyes to rest upon the Mandalorian. He probably wanted nothing to do with you for the rest of your lives. You accepted that.

“I’m sorry,” you said to him, and he noticed the tremor in your voice, how your hands shook again. Your eyes were dripping with sorrow, pure and clean, and Dyn Jarren thought his heart was going to break. Wondered if _he_ might break.

This began to feel like history trying to repeat itself.

He knew he should say something, he _wanted_ to – but the words wouldn’t take shape, wouldn’t even form in his mind. His throat was closing and, somehow, he felt like this was all his fault.

Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t.

When he continued to stare and stare and _stare_ at you, radiating regret and everything you had never let him see before – your head dipped in a brusque nod. _It’s okay,_ you said – even though it wasn’t – and you rose to go. _I understand._

Gloved fingertips closed around your wrist as you passed by your bounty hunter, and you complied when they tugged you closer. He was not going to let you walk away from him, not like this.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, visor turned toward your face; the one he still dreamt of on his worst nights, the one he thought of when he was desperate to be reminded of _hope_, of the _good_ that still lived in the galaxy.

He was shaken, and he wasn’t sure what else he felt in that moment – but he didn’t want to die, not yet. His voice was soft when he thanked you and let your hand go, had to wrestle the emotion out of his own voice – but he blamed that on the injuries, on the dull, lingering pain. He blamed the burn that stung his eyes, the thickness that gathered in his throat – those were the injuries too.

You hadn’t realized his hand slid down to twine with yours, when he thanked you.

He did not demand to leave, and you were stunned. You still felt sick, still felt that _guilt_ as it nestled deep in your memories, smooth and slick and never-ending. The feel of his lifeblood still clung to your skin like it was a ghost you swore you saw, but knew wasn’t there.

Nonetheless, he stayed while you called in on a favor to get those supplies you still needed. He didn’t question who it was, or where you were going, but wordlessly accepted that it was an old friend on a certain Mid-Rim planet who was indebted to a certain ex-spy, when you spoke to him of your plans. The Mandalorian may have been avoiding you, but he had stayed, and he planned on honoring your agreement.

It was late, when you came back from town, when you headed down to the galley. You weren’t sure why – it just felt _right_.

A familiar glint of metal caught your eye in the dim lighting; a helmet on the edge of the table peeked at you from the doorway. Without hesitation, you walked away.

“Wait.”

And without wanting to think about why, you listened. Eyes drifted shut as footsteps approached from behind. Every muscle in your body tensed as you allowed him to come closer, and closer still. Your breathing stopped, trapped in your lungs like they had forgotten how to breathe. You had finally lost your control, and now you were screwed.

The risk he was about to take was _necessary_, he told himself. Neither of you could live like this forever, and it was late, and you felt worse about what happened than you should, and because his _own_ guilt -

“_Keep your eyes closed,_” said the voice in your ear, a hand grazing the small of your back. It was gentle, consoling. There was no room for argument in his tone, no question of walking away.

Only once, had you walked away from him like this, and you never wanted to do it again.

“Wouldn’t dream of ruining the mystery now,” you answered him with a smile. The kind that electrified the air, that could burn cities to the ground and raise loved ones from the dead. Maybe, a smile that could end wars one day, or maybe begin them.

It was a smile Dyn Jarren was not sure still existed, was not sure he would see directed at him ever again. It was your real smile, and he knew you only gifted them rarely.

It was then, in that moment, when you felt the rush of his lips on your own. The exhilaration was unmatched, like a newborn star exploding with the fresh breath of life. All it took was that one moment, where you realized with a surge of _hope_, that you loved him still, and loved him with everything you had.

This was familiar, and this was dangerous.


	5. Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get Real (......ly nostalgic and scary for them.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are y'all ready to get rekt? (just kidding that's the next chapter.)  
I've been taking requests on my tumblr @ladyofstardvst if you'd like to hurl concepts at me for Other Things!! and thank you ALL for your lovely words on this project, it was a shot in the dark for me but who tf knew this is what would take off the most lmao. love you!!!!

A cluster of glowing, iridescent orchids were stolen away from your fingertips by the balmy breeze of Yavin 4.

You watched them soar away from you, the wind carrying them away and away. With every petal that left your sight, a name whispered through your mind, your heart, your veins. With every petal that left your sight, a gauzy cloud blew in front of the sun until the small bundle you held dwindled to none.

_Organa._

_Andor._

_Erso._

Any many, many others, you knew once upon a time.

You hadn’t been to this specific moon since the war ended; you were a rebel spy no longer – and that was the point. When you moved base all those years ago, there was no reason to return, not for you. Yet you still found yourself here, of all places, when you were traveling alone for the first time in two months.

It felt like eons, really, instead of a mere handful of days. The tension that held your ship like a precious treasure had vanished, had disappeared almost immediately after you had your night with the Mandalorian.

Things had calmed, like the world does after a storm. The only way was to continue on, pick up the pieces. Put them back together again better than the first time, because the foundations were all that was left and nothing would ever be the same again.

You thought about him, here in your little place on a hillside on Yavin 4. How he had mentioned his goal to find work, to find something to _do_. How he would take the child with him when he left, because it was his responsibility. He was not about to lay that on you, not when he still felt so strongly about the blade angled _just so_, leaving you with a choice that no one wanted to make. He refused to let that happen again, he said, gloved fingertips tracing your cheekbone, drifting down your jaw, the side of your neck.

He was so gentle, you questioned if he was touching you at all.

Another cloud crossed the sun, and you remembered him saying your name with caution, as if he wasn’t sure you would allow him such a gift: to have your name roll off his tongue without turning into the smoke you once were.

To you, it sounded like the swell of poetry, warm and velvety soft as it caressed your skin.

He was gone, then, headed towards the Razor Crest without looking back.

The wind stole the last stem woven through your fingers. You watched it dance across the foliage, past the trees, up, up, up until it escaped you, never to be seen again. With it, went the memory of wide, curious eyes watching you disappear behind metal doors and the haze of a different kind of tension -

_Careful, clever spy, this has ended in blood before._

Your empty fingertips grazed the blaster you still wore on your hip, a second skin of sorts.

You’ve been on Yavin 4 ever since. You wanted to stop running, once upon a time.

And now you had.

||

The Razor Crest entered the atmosphere a day or two after. You watched the familiar silhouette descend against a golden sky, smears of deep rose and plum streaking through gilded clouds. The burning red sun reflected colored flashes when it kissed the starship in all the right places. Your eyes followed it as it crept gracefully over the trees, the city. You felt the heat of that same blazing sun dash through your veins when you turned away and lost yourself in the crowds.

He found you, of course. Just as you knew he would. Just as he always had.

The dance you shared, the one you lead – it’s become a part of you, it seemed.

“Back to this, are we?”

The voice came from behind. You smiled into your drink.

“Only if you’ve come to finally arrest me,” you answered, voice raised. The cantina you had chosen wasn’t erratic, not this early in the evening, but it was well on it’s way to fulfilling its raucous reputation. There was no danger of being overheard. As for being seen . . . you had already taken care of that.

“I’m beginning to think I’ve only come close because you _let_ me.”

You hummed, watched him sit down across from you. You chose a table in a corner, half concealed in shadow, half illuminated in the dying rays of the sun.

“Find what you were looking for?”

Silence, eyes no doubt scouting beyond you, beside you, behind that beskar visor. “Yes,” he said at last. Then, “And no.”

“Please, do tell me more about that _enlightening_ response,” you teased, noticing the slight scuffs on his armor.

The Mandalorian sighed, and you smiled.

_This was familiar, and this was dangerous._

“They won’t stop coming, not until the child is either delivered or dead.”

It was your turn to be silent; another dirty glass hitting the table of another dirty cantina, on another planet. You watched him, considered his implications. You didn’t like to slip into the role of rebel intelligence around those you cared about, but you couldn’t always help it; you kept your voice even, toneless, your expression neutral.

“I doubt anyone will stop coming after me until I’ve been delivered or killed as well, you know.”

He considered _you_, now, and grunts. “You can handle yourself. This is no way for a kid to live.”

You can’t argue. You won’t.

The establishment began to fill, began to become increasingly more merry. To you, the sounds were dull, like a fading dream.

“So what do you plan to do about it, hunter?”

The Mandalorian had thought about this in depth, already had a plan. There was no conclusion he would like, and you least of all.

“I received a transmission on my way here,” he paused. “From the guild.”

The heart in your chest began to come alive. Your leg shifted to remind you that the weight of your blaster was still there, was still within reach.

“What do they want?”

He doesn’t want to tell you.

“The guild wants the client dead,” he began. “I bring the child, act as a snare. Then they do the rest.”

You stared. And stared. Then _laughed_.

“That’s a trap if I’ve ever heard of one.” you answered in-between fading bouts of laughter. The subtle tilt of the Mandalorians helmet strangled the joy dead in your throat. “You’re not – _no_.”

You knew what he was thinking, and it made your blood run cold.

“I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“_No_.” your voice steeled, fingers gripped the glass just a _little_ too tight. “They’ll _kill_ you, you have to know that.”

_They’ll try,_ he said, quieter than he was a moment before. _I’ll __get to__ them first._

You mirrored his quiet when you spoke. “I’m coming with you. Let me go in first, scope out what I can. _Who_ I can. I’ll let you know what I find when it’s safe to do so.”

The Mandalorian bristled under his armor, was about to say _no_, because he absolutely did not want you anywhere near the guild, let alone it’s_ base of operation._ He was about to say _no_, when he remembered _who you are_, who you used to be. He remembered what the Imperials took from you, had done to you and yours. He remembered you, knew what it meant that you were willing to be a spy again. He knew it wasn’t just for him, but the child and what the child represented to you: a memory of things and those who once were, and the weight of the hope that something like this could carry.

He agreed in the end, because it was all he could do.

When you finished your drink, you vanished into the night, because it was all _you_ could do.


	6. Fatal Flaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and so your journey comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been crazy, but we've reached the end. hope you like it <3

The world was crowned in a haze.

It grew and grew until the air was tinged lilac-gray from thick, swirling smoke. Shadows were burnt amber from the fire consuming, consuming the interior of the shitty cantina you had been herded into like wild, rabid animals.

There was a plan – a _good_ plan – but, like most things, the remnants of the Empire annihilated every single thing with one swift move.

You had the upper hand, once upon a time, before Moff Gideon revealed himself to be very much alive. Your blood had turned cold then, ran like ice through your veins as you froze from your rooftop vantage point. Every horror story you had ever heard came back all at once, and it was all you could do not to lose your grip on your rifle, not to give yourself away and shoot him right on the spot. Because if he was still alive, and he was here, and he called you all out by name – every one of you, most likely, would die on Nevarro.

A chill crept up your spine despite the heat, the smoke, the sweat that clung and shrouded both you and the Mandalorian laying at your side. This was deja-vu, of sorts: Din, bleeding out at your feet after a battle for the child.

You were calm when he laced his ripped gloved fingertips with your own and squeezed. His eyes never left yours – and even though you couldn’t see them, you knew they were on your face, bloody and flushed and eyes full of worry. You _knew_ him, and you were about to lose him.

“Go,” he said, voice obscured by beskar and smoke, heart so heavy it hurt to breathe. “_Let me go._”

You were hesitant, of course, but you knew you would listen. You would leave, and you would live and you would add your Mandalorian to the list of those you remembered, those you missed, those you mourned.

“I regret _nothing_,” you fought to keep your voice clear, though emotion was thick in your throat, slipped into your words. The tears that gathered in your eyes held, your fingertips squeezed back, just as hard, just as gentle. The smoke was thicker now, the glow of orange and red brighter, closer, hotter.

“_Run,_” he said, because no words would ever convey just how important you are, how much adoration he’s always held for you.

You ran.

The sounds of cooing and footsteps were your guide to the others, flashlight beams a guiding light as you found your way in the dark. Shadows stirred with tensity, pulsed with dust and dirt being stirred up after the longest time. The air was clear, and you could breathe again - could _think_ again, but you were on autopilot now. It didn’t matter that the war was over, that you were decommissioned. You were being chased by Stormtroopers, and you were Alliance Intelligence once again.

Maybe this is who you would always be.

_Be careful, clever spy._

The enclave chamber was empty, when you arrived alone. It was void of all life except for a pile of armor, steel faces of those hidden, those that risked their lives for Din and the child – they were staring at you, soulless and scarred.

Your heart clenched, and you realized you were apart of something bigger than you, than Din, than just keeping a child safe. It had been a while, since you found something so dire to be involved in.

“You’re beginning to understand, aren’t you?”

The chamber was empty, and then it wasn’t.

“Yes,” you answered the armorer, eyes still on the steel. “I am. He’s – Din may not, but I do.”

The words came faster between the armorer and the spy; they flowed easier as the others caught up to you, the scout. They were drawn to a close when a yell echoed behind you – one you had heard only once before, when you had been severely injured many moons, many lifetimes ago.

You hoped you never heard it again.

It seemed IG-11 had succeeded in binding his wounds, because the Mandalorian was on his knees, fingertips hovering over steel bones. The metal skulls taunted him with their sightless eyes.

Your lungs constricted, and air became scarce. There were many reasons your heart tempted to burst, and they all stemmed from relief, from heartbreak, from familiarity.

There was silence, and then the armorer began to forge.

“We have to go,” you said, precious moments passing by. Yells from the maze behind you grew louder and closer. Your eyes were on Din, and he rose after another long stare towards the grave at his feet. “I’ll go ahead.”

“_No_,” his voice was sharp, rough, quick. It reminded you of your first meeting, and he was at your side in seconds. “We go together.”

You weren’t about to argue. You thought, however brief, that you had lost him – but this was not the time, nor place, to mention it. You nodded once, in place of words.

The tunnels were dark, though every now and then the dim lights danced off the beskar stationed by your side. The freshly forged signet glowed, even in shadow.

Every single thing and absolutely nothing had changed, back in the enclave. The things the armorer said to the Din about the child, his people, the _Jedi_ – the last words she spoke towards you, and you_ alone_ – they echoed and echoed and refused to be pushed aside.

_They’re still out there._

You knew who she meant, what she knew.

_The Force can never die._

You almost wished it could.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” it made you shiver, how Din always made your name sound like velvet and promises and poetry. He kept pace with you, kept himself close to your side as you hunted for the lava river somewhere up ahead.

“I almost did,” you said, “Between you and the child – I’m not sure what to think. The past hour has been a lot, you know.”

“Yes,” he said, “I know.”

Neither of you spoke, after that. He knew enough, though was not about to pry, and you had no idea where to begin.

Some secrets were better left buried, and some secrets were not for him to unearth.

The air began to grow thicker, humid, stagnant. You smelled the burning river before you saw the glowing embers flowing slow and languid, heard the low rush as it bubbled and coughed scalding, molten lava up into the air.

Maybe it would be the lava, of all things, that silenced your breath and melted your bones today.

_Better that than the Stormtroopers._

“And . . . we’re sure this is safe?” Cara Dune asked, bundle of green wiggling in her arms. The ex-Shocktrooper had just as many reserves as you, about many things, for all the same reasons.

The boat was metal and rusting at an alarming rate.

“I’d rather go out this way than give the Imperials the satisfaction,” you answered, voice loud in the quiet. Your tone darkened to match the opaque, grey air in the underground river’s passage.

A breathy laugh left her next, filled the silence with the first sound that wasn’t full of caution. “I’m going out in a blaze.”

You knew she meant it. Your answer would have been the same, once upon a time.

“I’ll never let them take me alive,” was your answer, hushed and to yourself. Your hands tinkered with your blaster, the blade in your boot.

“They won’t take you at all,” Din said, tone matching yours. He was still by your side, and you both knew that if it came to it – he would _always_, without hesitation, place himself between you and any threat, especially one of this nature. He had dragged you willingly into this mess, but he would not let _you_ come between him and an enemy. Not again.

You, who sacrificed more than you ever dreamed, for that quick alliance during the war. It was a small sacrifice, at first, but it bloomed and blossomed into something more, something bigger and stronger than either of you anticipated. Your souls were forever bound as a result.

In the end, the price had risen, risen, _risen_, until you had to walk away from him, because it was finally more than you were willing to give.

_Be careful, clever spy._

You shook your head, holstered your blaster. There was a weight settling itself on your shoulders, in your chest. A weight you had shed long ago, but it never seemed to stay away for long. It whispered stories of various outcomes, various possibilities. It spoke of the very real case that not all of you would walk out of this alive.

You knew how sympathizers and leftovers operated, how _Moff Gideon_ operated, because that was once your life. How you survived. You knew it bone deep, knew it in your lungs, your blood, your very old soul.

Your suspicions were confirmed when your bounty hunter scanned an ambush waiting, in the light at the end of the tunnel.

_Predictable._

He was arguing with the droid then, about playing sacrificial lamb.

Your hand found a place on his arm where beskar did not touch, gave a tight squeeze.

“It’s the only way,” there was no room for negotiating, not in your tone, but the way your hand slid down his arm before you pulled away – it was a comfort. A small gesture, something unnoticeable to the prying eye.

It left a trail of white-hot flames burning through his skin and settled in his bones.

He had almost forgotten what you were like as a spy. Only those who had known you behind closed doors – in any sense – knew what to look for behind that relentless, always-calculating exterior.

You were still ethereal and divine and radiant underneath, and _no one _would take that from you.

You wouldn’t let them.

“Coming from an ex-spy,” Cara said, “I would believe them.”

Silence.

A sigh.

“I know.”

Your heart felt as heavy as the weight on your shoulders when the droid touched the child’s ear in farewell.

When the world became hazy with blackened-gray smoke once again, you swore your blood stopped flowing, stopped gifting life. The flare of an amber and crimson wall of flames, the blow-back of heat set your soul blazing with so, so many memories you had not thought of in so long. Your breath hitched at the all-too familiar scent of bodies burning and plastoid smoking.

Then, there was warmth on your skin. It was natural, and it was welcoming. It was grounding and sure as the rain you knew still fell, but had not touched in so many moons. The sun was blinding and bleeding soft butter yellow, peeking in and out from a collection of wispy clouds lazing across the deepening blue sky. It bathed all of you in the golden rays of light.

A breath left your lips when you found solid ground to stand on, and you scanned the terrain like your lives depended on it.

You heard it before you saw it.

“_TIE fighter._”

“_What?”_ Karga half yelled. Fear clouded his eyes, alarm raised his blaster.

“He’s coming.”

“We can take him.”

“He won’t land, Cara, you _know_ that.”

Then came the canon fire.

It was a blur, as it always was. Fast paced and heart pounding and bright with blaster bolts. Deafening as Gideon’s canons hammered into the dirt at your feet, the lava rock behind you, louder when a bolt from the ground missed the ship by a hair, and the air was colored with curses and screams of frustration.

There was a hand on your arm, the Mandalorian had never left your side; never in battle had he left your side.

Your eyes grew wide and you tightened the grip on your blaster, following Gideon in the air with your aim. He didn’t have to tell you his plan.

“Do you even know how to _use _that?” you nodded at the jet pack he would always wear, in some way or another.

He looked from you to Gideon, circling back around in the sky.

“We don’t have a choice.”

“You better come back.”

Din laughed, low and sarcastic. “_You_ know how difficult I am to get rid of.”

“Famous last words,” you say, lips defying gravity until you’re almost smiling as he took to the air.

The three of you left behind watched as the ship explodes, and it choked the horizon with flames.

The world was still as his feet touched the ground, and the future began.

“And here we are again,” Your words carried to him through the wind as he came closer, and closer still. Your goodbye was last, and it almost felt stolen, now that you were alone. Cara and Karga . . . they were headed back to the city. To rest, to plan, to live.

There was an invitation of work and a cleared name waiting for you, should you choose to join them. You considered it, if even for a little while.

“Fresh off something dangerous, or saying goodbye?”

You look down at the little green bundle hopping around at your feet. You would miss him.

You would miss them both.

“All of the above.”

“I’m glad you’re not coming with me,” he said, tone quieter than it was a moment before. Softer. “I’ve already brought too much into your life as it is.”

You laugh, light and sweet. “As if I never welcomed it with open arms.”

“Maybe,” he looked away from you, watched the sun begin it’s slow descent to bring a new day, new adventures. “I don’t know what I would have done -”

“Without me?” your smile turned wry, derisive. The lingering distance closed between the two of you, until it existed no more. “Got your ass kicked more than usual, I imagine.”

“You’re laughing now,” he said, tone playful. Visor turned back toward you, the face he always saw in his dreams. “One of these days it’ll be _you _eating dirt.”

“We’ll see,” your eyes were alight with the thrill of adrenaline, and you craved a day when the two of you would never have to say farewell again.

You raised a hand slowly – laughter faded in your throat – as you recalled the simple gesture that started this peculiar journey only a handful of weeks ago.

There were mere moments left before the glowing sun was gone and the moon rose full and bright and iridescent. You felt his own gloved fingertips, feather-light and adoring brush against your cheekbone, trail along your jaw like you were made of precious stones and he was still afraid he would lose you forever.

You traced his metal face with your own fingertips, and this time, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. He would miss the feel of you on his skin, your breath as it mixed with his own. He wanted you with him; now, always, forever, but he knew better than to ask that of you.

“When the child is safe,” you whispered, leaned fully into his touch, treasured how his presence made your chest swell and every moment flourish with something _essential_. “Come find me.”

You weren’t through with your dance, not yet.

Din Djarin opened his eyes, and all he saw was the sun’s golden rays disappearing behind the rocks, leaving him alone in blue-gray twilight. There was no beautiful sunset to greet him.

_Smoke and mirrors,_ he remembered.

You were gone.


End file.
